The Saturday poem: Shakespeare

Friday 30 November 2012 10.00 EST
First published on Friday 30 November 2012 10.00 EST

Small Latin and less Greek, all English yours,dear lad, local, word-blessed, language loved best;the living human music on our tongues,young, old, who we were or will be, history's shadow,love's will, our heart's iambic beat, brotherthrough time; full-rhyme to us. Two rivers quote your name;your journey from the vanished forest's edgeto endless fame – a thousand written souls,pilgrims, redeemed in poetry – ends here, begins again.And so, you knew this well, you do not die –courtier, countryman, noter of flowers and bees,war's laureate, magician, Janus-faced –but make a great Cathedral, genius, of this place.

• This is a new poem, written to mark the close of this year's World Shakespeare Festival.